


learn to be likable

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David doesn’t know how much he’s worth. David thinks it’s ridiculous to attempt to gauge someone’s worth. He still knows they’re offering less because he had a bad stretch last season. A weakness that made him cheap.</p><p>He still knows he’s worth more than they’re offering</p>
            </blockquote>





	learn to be likable

David prefers training to contract negotiations. That isn’t particularly surprising — even at the worst points, he knows training is making him a better player, but contract negotiations seem ridiculous, a bunch of men in suits arguing over how much he’s worth. David doesn’t know how much he’s worth. David thinks it’s ridiculous to attempt to gauge someone’s worth. He still knows they’re offering less because he had a bad stretch last season. A weakness that made him cheap.

He still knows he’s worth more than they’re offering.

No one in the NHL takes weekends off — the busiest day of the week is Saturday. Even so, contract negotiations take Saturday and Sunday off, because apparently executives do take weekends, at least in the offseason. Or their lawyers do, David doesn’t know. The weekend hasn’t been a particularly meaningful idea to him since he was in high school.

“Hey,” Dave says, Wednesday of their first week of negotiation. “When’s the last time you got up to Ottawa?”

“I don’t know,” David says. “Our last game there was—”

“No, I mean properly,” Dave says.

David shrugs a little.

“Look,” Dave says. “It’d be good if we could get some positive press.”

“What do you mean?” David asks.

“Head up to Ottawa this weekend,” Dave says. “Sign some autographs, play with some kids. Show you’re a local boy. I can set stuff up.”

“I—” David starts, and then, because he doesn’t have a reasonable argument, and Dave’s looking at him expectantly. “Okay.”

*

He sends his mother an email on Friday, says he’ll be in town Saturday. Pushes down the hope that she’s out of the country.

She calls him an hour later, and they arrange for lunch at one.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” she says. “Your room’s the same. A hotel would be a waste of money.”

“I’m not staying overnight,” David says.

Later he asks Dave to change his flight from Sunday morning to a Saturday red-eye so he isn’t a liar. 

*

The first place Dave sends him is the Civic Centre. David knows it decently enough, even if he never played in it during Juniors, since the OHL didn’t want him. The boards deaden everything, he knows from experience, you can’t count on ricochet the way you would anywhere else. It’s embarrassing the Senators ever played there, and not just because they have half the capacity of any modern arena.

They’re holding some children’s event, and he’s apparently the special guest. It’s mostly kids, hand in hand with their parents, who file into the line, some bouncing on their toes, others looking bored.

There’s a stack of glossy photos of himself ready for him, a jar of black Sharpies. He can’t be more than seventeen in the picture — he’s wearing a Team Canada jersey instead of an Islanders one. There’s a pimple at the corner of his mouth in the picture. He wishes he’d been able to choose.

The first person without a child in hand greets him with a smile. “Would it be okay if I got one for me and one for my son?” she asks.

They told David the policy was one photo each, but it’s not really his job to enforce it. Before he can answer, she barrels on.

“My son’s your biggest fan,” she says. “He’s so disappointed he can’t be here, but camp was scheduled before we knew you were coming.”

“What’s his name?” David asks. “I can address it to him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mind just the signature,” she says.

“It’s fine,” David says. “What’s his name?”

“Really,” she says, laughing. “He doesn’t mind.”

David signs two, the first just his signature, the number eleven trailing from the C, the second with an accompanying “Thanks for being a fan”. He hopes whoever buys it is one.

* 

He finishes autographs at the Civic Centre early, runs out of people before they run out of pictures. There’s enough time for him to walk up to the Byward Market for lunch, stretch his legs, as long as he keeps his head down.

People in Ottawa don’t know how to walk, and Bank’s the worst of it. David didn’t notice that the last time he was here for an extended period, or growing up here, but he’s spent years in New York now, and when he wasn’t living there, he was staying in Toronto. In New York, in Toronto, you follow traffic rules on the sidewalk, and everyone knows what side they’re supposed to be on. If they don’t, they’re a tourist or an asshole, no exceptions. In Ottawa they pick whichever side they prefer, it seems, so David has to weave even on quiet patches.

He gets caught behind a couple, holding hands on a sidewalk that doesn’t have room for three astride, walks half a block, clearing his throat, narrowly avoiding stepping on their heels, before he loses patience and steps into the street in order to pass them. 

“Is that—” the girl says, and then, loud, “David Chapman?”

David wants to keep walking. He has a lunch with his mother he shouldn’t be late to, they were rude and oblivious, but the last thing he needs is more rumours of being standoffish. Dave’s let him know there are a lot of them.

“Hi,” he says, turning around, and signs things for them (his Jays hat, her hand — she asked for her chest, but he’s not comfortable with that and her boyfriend doesn’t seem to be either) in Sharpie he has handy from the signing earlier. They want to talk to him, but he manages to excuse himself without seeming rude, he thinks, after six minutes, which makes him three minutes late to lunch.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” David says, when he arrives, “Some people recognized me and I had to sign some autographs.”

“They wouldn’t recognize the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff, but they know any hockey player,” his mother says.

David swallows back his knee-jerk comment — that there’s no way that girl would recognize all of them, seven hundred and fifty at least, close to a thousand when you consider call ups, far more if you include the minors in the umbrella of hockey player. That he’s not just any hockey player. It sounds arrogant, even in his head, though he knows it’s a statement of fact. He isn’t just any hockey player. Even the people who hate him wouldn’t disagree.

“You said this place is good,” David says.

“It is,” she says. “Who knows if they held onto our reservation, though.”

The hostess behind them smiles wide. The place is three quarters full, if that.

The food is good, David thinks, a mix of Asian and Mexican, so the tacos are loaded with Asian ingredients. It’s healthy, as far as restaurants go, lean cuts of meat, a lot of vegetables, small portions. It’s a good choice.

“Beaver Tails for dessert?” his mother asks.

“No, I’m full,” David says.

“You love Beaver Tails,” she says.

“I avoid fried food,” David says.

“Too good for the rest of us,” she says, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m a professional athlete,” David snaps, can’t help it. “It’s not vanity.”

“Right,” she says. “You had something this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” David says. “I’m probably late.”

*

He spends the time before he meets the kids for a surprise practice session playing Bejeweled on his phone. His 3G’s acting up. 

*

Contract negotiations don’t go as well as David would have expected, or hoped. They want a longterm contract, which makes sense, he supposes, considering the expectation is when you’re drafted as high as he is, you’re meant to be a catalyst in the rebuild. Jake just re-signed with the Panthers for six years, for a huge sum, and the Islanders are looking for the same sort of time, less money.

It’s not that David’s comparing his contract to Jake’s, though Dave flat out asks him if he is, once things get stalled. David knows how integral Jake is to the Panthers. He’s the captain, they’re obviously going to shell out more because of that, and he’s got a Calder as proof he can perform. David knows he can be better than he has been, he’s prepared to be better than he has been, and he’s going to be worth far more than the Islanders are offering. It isn’t even about the money, really — when you’re talking about millions of dollars, at a certain point it just seems petty — but that he knows he’s worth more, and that the Islanders don’t seem to.

The season’s close to starting, and Dave, looking tired, has started asking him if he’s willing to go into salary arbitration, when they finally nail down a bridge deal, two years, six million dollars, less per year than David would get if he signed for longer, enough so that Dave mutters that GMs are going to think he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Then you’ll surprise them,” David tells him. “When they find out you do.”

“And you’re all about surprises, huh David?” Dave asks, but he’s smiling a little. “You’re leaving a lot of money on the table, here.”

David remembers, belatedly, that him leaving money on the table means Dave’s getting less too. “I’m going to be worth more in two years,” David says. “They can pay more, or they can’t have me.”

“Cocky,” Dave says, but he says it like a compliment.

*

Kiro texts him when the deal reaches the news, _come to the pens when youre free!_

It’s extremely unlikely that Kiro’s going to be with the Penguins in two years. His contract will be up, even if he isn’t traded, and the best decision he could make, financially and career-wise, would be to go to a team that isn’t playoff ready so he can get the minutes, avoid getting sent down again. David doesn’t say that — he’s sure Kiro knows that, and if he doesn’t, David’s not the person to tell him, so he just sends back _We’ll see what happens_.

Jake seems to have Kiro’s idea. _play on my line in 2 yrs!_ David receives. _u no we play well 2gether_. David doesn’t know if that’s a reference to Toronto’s camp, where they did play well on a line together, or some kind of sexual euphemism, which he supposes also would not be inaccurate, only irrelevant. “Chemistry is chemistry,” Jake said once, with a smirk. David scoffed at him, but honestly, he might be right.

 _I think Forster might disapprove._ , David returns. Forster signed for five years last summer, and he’s been on the first line most of his time with the Panthers. 

_joe wud live_ , Jake sends back immediately.

 _No way I’d let you be my captain._ David sends. It feels mean, even if it’s true, so after a moment he hesitantly adds a _:P_ .

 _ud love it :P_ Jake sends back, and David finally lets himself smile.


End file.
